Porcelain
by slightlysickpsycho
Summary: "Her face is regal but somehow still generic, and alone in the shadowy bathroom, she wonders how she'll ever measure up." The development of Narcissa's eating disorder, viewed from a few pivotal moments. Warning: contains anorexia/bulimia triggers.


At twelve years old, Narcissa Black watches with fascination as Bellatrix leans close to the gold framed mirror, slowly lining her already dark eyes. Her older sister is, in Narcissa's eyes, the embodiment of sensuality, a sentiment reflected in the blank faces and staring eyes of every man they pass. Narcissa is a pale slip of a girl, face hidden behind infuriatingly straight blonde hair. Her eyes move slowly down the reflection, taking in the swell of her sister's breasts. She sighs.

Later that night, they're dancing and sipping champagne (Narcissa is only supposed to have a taste, but it takes more than that to get through another insufferable night of being passed around and petted, dressed like a little doll). Andromeda isn't an extraordinary beauty, and probably never will be, but she's clever and charming when she needs to be, and more importantly, able to fade into the background when she wants to.

Maybe Narcissa's had a bit too much to drink, and now her head is spinning as she ducks through the shadows and out into the garden, gasping in the cool night air. As she walks along the immaculately kept path, she hears the murmur of hushed voices. Peering through the bushes, she sees Bellatrix locked in a heated embrace with an older boy, panting and lewd.

A boy in her year, Ben, who she's never been too fond of, sits next to her at the start of term feast. Narcissa can barely stand him; he's far too coarse for her liking. He keeps talking to her, hard as she tries to discourage it. Finally one comment he makes is a little too lewd, and she turns away in a huff.

"That's no way to address a lady!" she exclaims, biting down viciously on her meat, and he snorts.

"You're hardly one of those," he snickers, "you don't even eat like one." A group of older boys sitting near them laughs, and Ben glows while Narcissa's cheeks sting with heat and she sees Lucius watching smugly. She storms out of the Great Hall, refusing to let herself cry.

She lies awake that night, hungry and confused. After hours of staring at the moonlight that spills through an opening in her hangings, she steals to the girl's bathroom to examine herself in the mirror. She stands naked in the dim light, her nightgown in a heap on the floor. Her breasts are too small and her waist is too wide, and she feels like anything but a lady. Bella may not be a _lady_, per se, but Narcissa isn't deluded enough to think she could ever command that kind of raw sensuality. Her face is regal but somehow still generic, and alone in the shadowy bathroom, she wonders how she'll ever measure up.

The next morning at breakfast, Ben sits across from her, and she eats nothing, unwilling to give him a reason to taunt her. Surprisingly, he leans across the table to ask,

"What's wrong with you?"

"What?" she murmurs, lost in thought.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

She shrugs. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Lucius watching, and she can't help but feel pleased.

At fifteen, Narcissa is the ice queen of Hogwarts. She walks through the halls with her head held high and turns her nose up at food. Lucius' affection, by now, is something she takes for granted. Both families are pleased with their courtship, and it's already been decided that they will marry after graduation.

They tell her she's breathtaking, and she just sneers; she knows this. Bella may be a ravishing beauty, but she's fierce and wild, two things their parents won't stand for. Andromeda is far too plain, and spends more time studying than a self-respecting young woman ought to. Narcissa is the one they love the most, she's the perfect _lady_.

"Do you ever eat _at all_?" her best friend Anya asks, but Narcissa blows her off with an enigmatic smile, pushing away her empty plate and leaving the table.

Two years later, at her engagement dinner, Narcissa smiles vibrantly as she swallows mouthful after mouthful of extravagant rich food; all eyes are on her tonight, and it wouldn't do to show any sort of agitation.

"Excuse me for a moment, dear." Her voice is feather soft in Lucius' ear, and he just smiles as she walks away. Tears stream down her face as she kneels in front of the toilet for what must be the thousandth time. She feels weak and empty, but she steels herself and puts her fingers down her throat one more time. It has to be perfect. _She_ has to be perfect. Her legs shake as she stands to rinse her mouth, bracing herself against the counter until she can catch her breath. She downs the pepper-up potion stashed in her handbag and returns to the party, radiant as ever.

Narcissa Malfoy is a virgin on her wedding night. She's insisted on preserving her purity up to this point for one reason only- she's terrified of Lucius seeing her naked. Her body is distorted and strange, frail but not quite feminine. He smiles reassuringly and kisses her all over. She bites down on her lip and closes her eyes, counting the minutes until this unpleasantness can be over. Sex will become easier for her in time, but never truly enjoyable. It is, instead, something she endures because all other things aside, she does love Lucius more than life itself.

At twenty five years old, Narcissa has yet to produce a single heir. Lucius' parents are growing restless, and under increasing pressure, Lucius begins dragging her to specialist after specialist. Though there's nothing wrong with her reproductive health, it's suggested that her weight may be keeping her from getting pregnant.

"Don't be absurd!" she explodes, the instant they step out of the fireplace into their parlor, "I don't see why being fat would help me bear a child!"

His ice gray eyes flash with fury. "This childish dieting has gone on long enough, Narcissa. It was one thing when we were younger, but it's time for you to stop being so vain."

Vanity. As if that's all it is. Through their marriage, she has always found the right excuses to push him farther from the truth, always found a way to keep the secret she holds closest to her heart. His words sting her deeply, but she refuses to let him see how much she hurts. Haughtily, she leaves the room.

Meals, from this point forward, are a torturous affair. "You can do as you wish once you've had a son," Lucius tells her, "but until then, you will not deprive your body for the sake of vanity."

She knows he loves her, but still, she feels more like a vessel than a person. Too soon he realizes that she won't eat at meals when he isn't there to see that she does, and he promptly hires a woman to oversee her nutrition. Less than a week into her employment, she walks in on Narcissa vomiting after dinner. She doesn't say a word, but the next day Narcissa is given a potion with breakfast. She spends half an hour in the bathroom gagging on her fingers again and again, but her body refuses to purge itself.

Three months later, she's pregnant, and it is hell. Every day, she feels a little more swollen, more bloated. She's beyond relieved when she discovers she's carrying a boy; this will be her only child.

Finally, Draco is born, and she loves him beyond reason, but she loathes herself more than ever now, and vows that she will never be fat again. Five months later, she can count her ribs again. In her trembling arms, she holds the warm child who is a promise of all that is to come, and in the pit of her stomach, she feels terrified of all she knows she is.


End file.
